Besorrow

Then to the woman, for her offence, God did pronounce this sore sentence: All pleasure that you had'st besorrow Shall changed be in lasting sorrow.

The land of the West holds a maiden sweet, And the fairest face has she; But, oh! she has also Chicago feet, And that's what besorrows me.

Oh, heart of man, when griefs deep scar Ploughs through thy and sand, When soul and sense besorrowed are, Lead, lark of love, 'yond sun and star; […]

Dear Peter, newly was I with the car in the town to besorrow me this and that for the holidays.